


Insatiable

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Immediate [2]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Biting, Bruises, Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Sex, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shizuo is sprawled over the bed when Izaya shoves the door open to cast light over the rumpled sheets, leg thrown wide over the top layer of blankets and one arm clutching what is ostensibly Izaya’s pillow to his chest." Izaya wakes Shizuo up and Shizuo is impatient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insatiable

Izaya loses patience after the third hour.

He’s been steadily louder as the morning progresses, moved from banging through the dishes in the kitchen to turning the volume up uncomfortably high on the television to just shouting Shizuo’s name in more and more inventive imitations of panic. But there’s been no sound from the bedroom, not even the low thunder of Shizuo’s growl into wakefulness, and Izaya’s patience is longer than Shizuo thinks it is but shorter than this.

Shizuo is sprawled over the bed when Izaya shoves the door open to cast light over the rumpled sheets, leg thrown wide over the top layer of blankets and one arm clutching what is ostensibly Izaya’s pillow to his chest. His hair is a mess, tangled into almost-curls all over his head, and he groans at the light, turns his head away into the sheets under him so Izaya doesn’t hear his uninventive insult.

He looks  _magnificent_.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya chirps in his shrillest and most piercingly chipper register. He can see irritation tense Shizuo’s shoulders, push his face deeper against the mattress as if that has ever worked before, as if it has any chance of working now. Izaya can see his leg flex as he turns in against the sheets, the edge of Shizuo’s boxers riding up to offer a tantalizing suggestion of shadow against the inside of his thigh, and he’s moving in, climbing onto the end of the bed between Shizuo’s legs before he can let himself think better of the idea. “Wake up, I’m bored.”

Shizuo growls again, a sound of indecipherable frustration against the sheets, and Izaya tips himself forward, drapes his body against the warm curve of Shizuo’s spine and the rising tension across his shoulders. His mouth fits against the tangle of yellow hair at the back of Shizuo’s neck, his teeth pressing into skin, and he’s working his fingers down, angling between Shizuo’s chest and the sheets until his touch is pinned between the two and can slide suggestion down across the other’s skin.

“Wake up,” Izaya purrs, lower this time, as his fingers drag across the flat of Shizuo’s stomach and down towards his hips. “Come on, Shizu-chan, you know you want to.”

Shizuo moves faster than Izaya expects. His shoulder shifts, his hand snaps out, and then there are fingers around Izaya’s wrist, a steel hold as impossible to break as a handcuff. Izaya’s downward motion is stalled just shy of the top of Shizuo’s boxers, his fingers not quite in range no matter how he twists, and he’s huffing frustration of his own when Shizuo turns his head to throw the shadows of a glare Izaya’s way.

“Get off me,” Shizuo growls. “I’m  _sleeping_.”

“You should be done sleeping,” Izaya drawls, not letting any of the strain of his continued struggle against Shizuo’s hold touch his voice. “It’s almost ten.”

“I was working until three,” Shizuo shoots back, as if Izaya doesn’t know this, as if Izaya  _cares_. “Go amuse yourself.”

“I have been,” Izaya pouts, tries again for the top of Shizuo’s boxers. He still can’t reach. “You’re so much more fun to play with.”

“ _Izaya_ ,” Shizuo intones. He must be exhausted; he sounds sincerely angry, now, his voice touched with that deep resonance of fury that Izaya usually has to fight for, that buys him blood and bruises and promises of hatred that sound almost sincere. “If you don’t leave me alone I will tie you to a chair and  _make_  you.”

Izaya wants to push, if only to see if Shizuo will actually do it, if only to see what will happen  _after_  the promised restraint. But there’s a better than even chance Shizuo will actually go back to bed without giving Izaya what he wants, and since that’s an unacceptable risk even for him, he shifts tactics. He’s always been willing to adapt.

“Please,” he says, letting his wrist go limp in Shizuo’s hold and breathing the word against blond hair. “I miss you, Shizu-chan.”

“Cut it out,” Shizuo rumbles. “That’s worse than the other.”

“ _Please_.” Izaya tilts his hips forward, presses himself in against Shizuo’s thigh just in case the other somehow missed how hard he is. Izaya thinks it’s perfectly obvious but from the way Shizuo tenses and misses an inhale, perhaps the unsubtle suggestion was necessary. “You wouldn’t leave me to deal with this alone, would you?”

“Fuck off,” Shizuo says, but he’s not letting Izaya’s wrist go and he isn’t moving to roll over and dump Izaya off him that way. It’s as good as permission, as far as Izaya is concerned; he angles his legs a little wider for better traction, grinds in again, and this time Shizuo’s growl sounds a lot more like a groan.

“You can hold still if you want,” Izaya says against Shizuo’s shoulder, making it sound as if he’s perfectly content with this, as if the friction he’s getting isn’t more frustrating than satisfying. “If you’re really getting so old that sleep is more important to you than sex.”

“Shut  _up_ ,” Shizuo snaps, irritation flaring right on cue, and Izaya knows at that moment that he’s won.

“Or you could roll over,” he says, slow, like the idea’s just occurring to him, leaning in close to the curve of Shizuo’s ear so the catch of his voice at the idea is unmistakably audible. “You wouldn’t even have to move, Shizu-chan, you could just lie back and watch me.”

“Like I’d want to watch you,” Shizuo attempts, but he’s lost already, he sounds uncertain at best and overheated at worst. “Go the fuck away, Izaya.”

“Right,” Izaya purrs, letting his voice veer to the sarcasm he knows he can get away with. Shizuo’s hold is loosening at his wrist; it’s hardly restraint at all, anymore, the other’s attention to the conversation serving as a perfect distraction. “You’d rather roll over and go back to sleep than let me fuck myself on your cock.” He twists his hand sharply, shakes free of Shizuo’s hold, and he’s moving quick, before the other has time to collect himself and regain his grip. Izaya’s palm presses against the front of Shizuo’s boxers, fingers curling around the flushed heat of his cock through the fabric, and Shizuo makes a desperate groaning sound, his hips coming forward on instinct to shove hard against Izaya’s hand.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya breathes against Shizuo’s ear, his exhale ruffling yellow locks out of place. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo says succinctly, and he’s turning over, twisting to deposit Izaya on the bed and reaching out for the other’s shoulder in the same motion. Izaya can see where this is going, was ready for this maneuver; he sits up fast, lets his hold go so he can shove at Shizuo’s hip instead and push him back down to the mattress, swings his leg up and over to straddle the other’s body before Shizuo has a chance to react.

“I told you,” Izaya says while Shizuo is still staring up at him, looking vaguely disoriented from his sudden movement. “You’re going to just lie still.” He works his fingers under the elastic waistband of Shizuo’s boxers, tugs them down as he slides his weight back over the other’s legs and off the end of the bed before he comes back in to resume his position. He settles a little farther forward this time, enough to press Shizuo’s cock in between the spread-open angle of his thighs; it makes Shizuo growl, brings his hands to grip bruises against Izaya’s hips, and it makes Izaya smile hot and dark with anticipation as he leans forward to reach for the lube by the head of the bed.

“Just be patient,” he says, framing it as a suggestion and curling it into the shape of a taunt. Shizuo’s fingers work under the edge of his loose shirt, short-cut fingernails biting against his skin; it makes Izaya shudder, the casual hold no less unbreakable for how easily it is bracing him in place while he gets the bottle open and his fingers slick. “You could even go back to sleep, if you wanted.”

“Shut up.” Shizuo’s eyes are dark, half-lidded with the weight of lingering exhaustion and the press of overheated interest at once; Izaya watches them drag down to follow the movement of his hand, watches Shizuo’s lips fall into an unconscious part as he slides his fingers under the waistband of his boxers. “You woke me up, don’t pretend like you don’t care now.”

“You’re learning,” Izaya purrs. “You’ve seen right through me, Shizu-chan.” He reaches out, braces himself with a hand against Shizuo’s chest as he fits his fingers against himself; Shizuo’s cock is hot between his legs, the weight of it pressing against him through the fabric of his boxers. Izaya can’t help but dip his weight in closer, grind himself into an edge of friction against Shizuo, and when he slides a finger into himself his own faint exhale is lost to Shizuo’s growl as he tightens his hold on Izaya’s hips and rocks his weight up to press himself closer.

“Hurry up,” he says, voice turning the words to a growl, and Izaya shivers, lets his back curve to tip him in closer, near enough that his hair falls forward to threaten the dip of Shizuo’s collarbone.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” he insists. The friction is good, the angle of his hand practiced enough that he knows how deep to go, how fast to move, but Shizuo’s rocking up against him in a demand for more, and the idea is enough to make the familiarity of his own touch dull and distant. “Don’t rush me.”

“You’re too slow.” Shizuo’s grinding up against him deliberately, now, the head of his cock going slick and catching against the inside of Izaya’s thigh. It makes Izaya’s breathing catch, turns the heat in his veins inside-out with anticipation; he has to duck his head to cover the flush that spreads over his cheeks, breathe against Shizuo’s shoulder to hide the gasp in his throat as he presses into himself with another finger. The stretch is nearly an ache, sweeping out over Izaya’s attention and fracturing through his coherency, but even as his legs are tensing against the thrust his cock is going harder, pressing against Shizuo’s stomach so the other growls low and purring and pulls Izaya in closer.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” he suggests, the vibration ruffling Izaya’s hair.

“Almost,” Izaya purrs, or tries to purr, except that it comes out on a gasp as Shizuo tilts his hips up and jolts the stroke of Izaya’s fingers in deeper than he intended to go. There’s a burst of sensation, heat exploding out into Izaya’s veins, and the sound he is trying to make breaks off into a groan, his voice cracking halfway through the word.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo chokes, sounding shocked-open and hot, and Izaya gives up on further taunting, slides his fingers free so he can sit up and peel his boxers off. Shizuo follows as if they’re tied together, his eyes still so dark Izaya can’t see their color and fingers dragging at Izaya’s shirt without any consideration for what Izaya is trying to effect himself.

“Jesus,” Izaya manages, kicking one leg free of his boxers and accidentally-on-purpose jamming his knee in against Shizuo’s chest in the process. Shizuo huffs against the impact but he’s pulling Izaya’s shirt without a pause to breathe, tangling the fabric around the other’s head until Izaya has to give up his hold on his clothes and lift his arms to let Shizuo strip him down to skin. “Seriously, Shizu-chan, haven’t you learned any kind of manners yet?”

“You  _woke me up_ ,” Shizuo says, tossing Izaya’s shirt to the side and reaching back out for the other’s hips. His thumbs dig in against the dip over the bone; Izaya can feel the pressure low in his stomach, the ache of the hold grounding out the electricity under his skin. “Don’t lecture  _me_  about manners, Izaya.”

“You were sleeping in,” Izaya points out, fitting his fingers into a fist on Shizuo’s hair and bracing himself low over Shizuo’s chest while he gets his legs settled around the other’s hips again. “It’s almost afternoon, it’s not healthy to sleep so late.”

“I work at a  _bar_ ,” Shizuo growls. Izaya tips his weight forward, anticipating the drag of Shizuo’s hands at his hips; Shizuo rumbles irritation, rocks his weight up so his cock catches and slides over Izaya’s skin. “At least I have a job. Where the fuck do you even get your money?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Izaya says, lowers his weight on legs trembling with the effort of going slow and the shake of anticipation at once. Shizuo catches against him again, slides against slick skin, and Izaya rocks his weight back, balancing by pulling at the fist he has of Shizuo’s hair as he presses down against the other’s cock. “I pay my half of the rent.” He exhales, lets himself sink down another inch, and Shizuo slides into him, the movement slow enough for Izaya to breathe through the stretch so different from his fingers. “Besides,” he continues, risking a tremor in his voice for the pleasure of teasing a reaction from the other. “This way you get to fuck me whenever you want.”

“Whenever  _I_  want,” Shizuo repeats, voice raw with the effort to sound out sarcasm. His fingers are pressing into bruises, Izaya can feel the weight of them forming asymmetry alongside his spine. “At the expense of any kind of regular sleep schedule.”

“You like it,” Izaya declares as they slide together, his weight coming to rest against Shizuo’s hips; he can hear the hiss of Shizuo’s breathing when he shifts, can feel the heat of the other’s cock pushing him open just past the point of comfort. “You can’t keep your hands off me, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo growls, rolls his hips in unsubtle encouragement for Izaya to move. “You wish.”

“It’s true,” Izaya purrs. His fingers fit against Shizuo’s shoulder, brace against the flex of the muscle as Shizuo’s hands urge him up in a slow slide of friction that knocks them both wordless for a moment. Izaya’s spine flickers hot, his fingers tensing in Shizuo’s hair, and Shizuo groans, muffles it with teeth at Izaya’s shoulder. “ _Ah_.”

“Move faster,” Shizuo orders, loosens one set of bruised-in fingerprints to close his fingers too-tight around Izaya’s cock. His hold is painful, sharp against the over-sensitive skin, but then he jerks up and Izaya’s spine arches for him, tension shuddering through him to render him helplessly obedient for a moment.

“Be gentle, Shizu-chan” but he’s moving anyway, rocking up as he falls into a rhythm dictated more by the pace Shizuo’s fingers are setting than by any deliberation in his own mind. “Not all of us have your constitution.”

“Shut up,” Shizuo says. “Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“Never,” Izaya promises, and Shizuo twists his hand and his words come undone, fracture into a breathless gasp that makes him a liar while the syllables are still hot in the air. Shizuo’s rocking up too, he thinks, but it’s hard to tell; the ache in his thighs is joining with the sparks catching up his spine, the press of Shizuo’s fingers an inverse echo of the thrust of his cock, until Izaya can feel his attention wavering, until he’s losing grasp of the overall for the details: the soft of the hair in his fingers, the damp of Shizuo’s breath at his shoulder, the heavy weight of sleep still hanging in the dim room.

“Fuck,” Shizuo says against Izaya’s throat. Fingers work at his hip, shift into a steadier hold. “Faster.”

“Impatient,” Izaya taunts, but he’s obeying anyway, rocking his weight up as fast as he can get his shaking legs to move. He can feel Shizuo tensing, leaning in against him to press his mouth into the outline of a kiss against Izaya’s neck; when he presses his arm across Shizuo’s shoulders he can read the flex of anticipation from the shift against his skin.

“Do you want me to stop?” Shizuo growls. They’re pressed together skin-to-skin, the slick of Shizuo’s sweat catching Izaya’s skin into fever-heat; Izaya can feel each stroke of Shizuo’s hand in the drag of knuckles against his stomach as much as in the press of fingers around his cock. “Shut up and go  _faster_.”

“I’m trying,” Izaya says, and is. His legs are trembling, the effort of his too-fast movement aching all through his thighs, but his arm is bracing around Shizuo’s shoulders and his mouth is in Shizuo’s hair and everything is shuddering towards an edge, desire twisting itself into the fragility of  _not quite_  with every motion of his hips, every rocking thrust Shizuo takes to push up into him. “Shizu-chan, don’t stop.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo spits, his fingers twisting so tight Izaya whimpers hurt, back arching against the flare of pain and friction at once. Shizuo’s mouth comes open against his skin, there’s a rush of heat as he gasps an exhale, and then whatever rhythm they had dissolves as Shizuo groans and shudders himself into orgasm. Izaya can feel the heat shaking through the breadth of the other’s shoulders, can hear the broken-off gasps for air he’s taking, and normally he’d be all appreciation for it but right now--

“ _Shizu-chan_ ” and it’s raw in his throat, it’s blood on his tongue, the edge of desire turning itself into violence on his lips. “Don’t  _fucking_  stop.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo gasps, and he jerks his hold up in a quick messy movement. It’s rough, and it’s uncoordinated, and it’s  _enough_. Izaya’s back arches, his hips rocking forward to angle against Shizuo’s fingers, and Shizuo is only just starting to slide his hold back down when Izaya chokes off “ _Shizu_ \--” and loses himself to the shuddering waves of heat that hit and crash over him. He’s tipping forward, hunching in against the support of Shizuo’s shoulders, and every inhale stutters in his chest and he can taste salt on his lips, sweat catching itself into a bite on his tongue. Shizuo groans when Izaya clenches around him but Izaya can’t make himself stop, can’t find the concentration to do anything but shiver through the reflexive pulses of heat that have taken over his body.

By the time Shizuo unfolds his fingers from the divots they have made against Izaya’s hips, Izaya can feel the ache of exertion forming all along the inside of his thighs, the raw burn of too much friction against his cock and pressed inside him when he shifts himself up so Shizuo can slide free. His mouth tastes of salt, his lungs are still working hard for each breath of air, and when Shizuo lets his hip go Izaya tightens his hold against the other’s shoulders, not ready yet to be pushed away and left to hold himself up. But the fingers land in his hair instead of at his shoulder, the touch unexpectedly gentle instead of a pull, and when Izaya lifts his head Shizuo is looking at him with shadows in his eyes that turn them dark and unreadable. He doesn’t speak, and Izaya doesn’t protest. Shizuo just pulls, and Izaya comes, and when their mouths fit together there’s only warmth, heat with none of the vicious bite they usually find between them.

As long as Shizuo’s hands are on him, Izaya doesn’t care how gentle they are.


End file.
